Chester has taken his place between the two trash bins. They protect him from the wind, if not the early snow that has fallen. This is not the safest neighborhood, but he knows he is protected and he hates himself a little for it. His protection loves to torment him, but he needs a safe place, and in this town he knows it is not the shelters. So he hunkers down and before long he sees her.

She is a vision of feminine perfection straight out of a movie. She works the four-inch pumps for all they are worth and her statuesque legs are covered in fish net stockings providing a map of her curves up to the very short skirt she wears. The silver, silk blouse is tight over her endowments which are draped with a mink stole. Pale foundation lights up her face and provides the perfect background for bright red lips and green eyes under a frame of wavy black hair. Those eyes dart back and forth nervously, waiting for the worst and Chester wants to look away, knowing he cannot. He has seen it too many times before.

In seconds they are on her. Half a dozen wild young men. They are not from this neighborhood, they are rich kids coming to play. They howl at her and make quick feints at lunging toward her and she hides her face from them as they surround her. She quivers and quakes as they herd her toward the alley. Chester knows what is coming next and wants to cover his ears, but that would be breaking the rules. If he breaks the rules, he loses his protection.

So he prays, knowing it is allowed. He prays as the screams echo off the buildings. He asks God to make it quick and merciful. He hopes there is no suffering though he knows he is devotions are all in vain. He weeps as the cries continue for what seems an eternity until the street is silent once more.

Silent save the clacking of her heels. She walks out of the alley and wipes her lips. Looking directly at Chester she licks the blood from her sharp teeth and blows him a kiss before sauntering away. His protector, his tormentor, the queen of the night.